She lifts the one-piece blue gym suit toward the camera,
that relic of our girlhood trials~
the stretchy, scratchy, sweat-soaked uniform
we wriggled into like reluctant acrobats.
It hangs from her hand like a captured beast,
its elastic edges still whispering
of locker rooms, loud whistles,
and the long-ago tyranny of mandatory jumping jacks.
Her grin is bright, almost defiant.
“I survived the blue gym suit,” she says,
as if announcing a medal earned through
endurance, embarrassment, and sheer adolescent grit.
And truly~
for every teenage girl who fought that fabric,
who peeled it off after class like a second skin,
who learned early that some battles
are won simply by outlasting them~
it is a lifetime achievement award.
A small, silly triumph.
A shared secret.
A reminder that even the strangest struggles
become stories we hold up proudly
once we’ve lived long enough to laugh.
In the pursuit of happiness
Americans chase fortune and fame
gold galore and a place
where everyone knows their name
but they could tone it down a bit
and not go loudly announcing it
to all and sundry with every word
it seems infinitely preferable
if some are seen and never heard
but on the other hand in another land
while leading lives of quiet desperation
trapped in their traditional ways
the British hang on in hope
of distant future better days
and tho' always first to join a queue
there are the few exceptions who
break the rule at every chance
don't give a whit or backward glance
hats off to them for their contribution
as every generation needs a new revolution
He plops on a lily pad
like it’s a cushy spa chair,
wiggling his knobby green toes
and announcing to no one,
“Must be time for a mani/pedi.”
He uncaps the polish,
a shade called Pink Swampy Chic~
and paints each stubby digit
with the concentration of a surgeon
and the vanity of a bullfrog
who knows he’s a looker
if only in his own mind.
By the time he’s done,
the pond is shimmering
with reflections of ten tiny fuschia toes
and a frog who believes
beauty is mostly attitude
and a steady hand.
Blossoms parade on the wattles,
cheering a sudden spring.
With pompoms of pollen
they’re boldly announcing
long light in the evenings...
and less dark for sleeping-in.
One tiny purple pom becoming
food for butterflies and thought
stretches out her long lilac colored fingers to get her first taste of the sun
she smiles as she blooms
The tiger swallowtail flutters excitedly around her, announcing her arrival
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ the break
Of waters ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ can make
¦¦¦¦ soil ¦¦¦¦ indurate and strange.
He ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ holds ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ together
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
The ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ announcing ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ clock;
Seeking, ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ a light ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦ as a lamp ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ with hills ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦ no sea ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ he will find ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
To be enduring, ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
Of hidden ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ glares
¦¦¦ beauty ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦ something dreadful ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
(Blackout of A Tale by Louise Bogan)
I found an orange cat
living by the dumpster.
He meowed at me,
as if to say, "Hello."
He decided then and there
to follow me back home.
The moment we arrived,
he promptly moved right in,
announcing for all to know-
this was now his home instead.
When the west was young
Town’s people among
Mountain high and Sunshine warmth
Rugged detail
Vast land landscapes
As miles could see
The Stagecoach days
History from then to present
Breezy sir
Flying prairie dust
Reminder when horses were the ride
Gunsmoke atmosphere
The Cowboys and Sheriff who were connected as foes
Railroad sounds in the distance of Steam driven engine smoke announcing passenger arrivals
Drunken environment of Saloons
The memory of Cheyenne, Wyoming
Western style
As the sunset fades and the prairie dust kicks up
The ride into the distance towards the sunset
Town people’s chant, “Y’ALL COME BACK
A Grand Sale is going on my posh shop.
Please manage your time to have just a stop.
You won't get disappointed : I am sure.
Please visit at ease with friends to explore.
Neatly arranged in separate sections
Lots of choices for your satisfaction.
Look over the garments to choose and try
in the trial room before you can buy.
Dresses for Ladies, Children, Men , all nice !
Available just in moderate price.
All are shown in proper categories :
Fabric painted and also embroidered.
All belonging to most latest fashions :
I am offering several options.
I'm assuring your appreciation.
Your friends will develop same attraction.
Announcing Stock clearance sale : Almost new !
Not in large numbers, those are very few.
On a flat discounted rate, those will be sold.
For no reasons those can be termed as ' Old.'
So ! Sale is continuing at random !
Shop is waiting for you : All are welcome.
Grand Sale ! Grand Sale ! Grand Sale ! Bell is ringing .
Feel free to enjoy foll zest and zing.
We are born breathless,
empty but not still.
Poised, suspended in silence
awaiting the first cry!
The first inhalation,
as the spirit enters us,
for the very first time,
with a profound
loud announcement,
that catches
the mother's
the father's
and watchers' and carer's
breath away
in awe and wonder
at their
new birth.
Much in nature is breathless;
lifeless but not still.
The tides ebb and flow.
The moon waxes and wanes.
Day becomes night,
and night becomes day.
The seasons come and go.
Waves rush in, crash, gush and exhale;
without gathering a breath.
The sky changes its mind.
Storms gather and disperse,
announcing their arrival
with a loud
thunderclap - a smack!
But there's no life within
to inhale,
draw breath
and breathe,
at their lifeless,
and breathless
new birth.
Tears of the sky
cried by the heavens above,
the Great Spirit
announcing your birth with his love.
Tears of the sky
for your name’s sake,
stars weeping with joy
for the child we make.
Tears of the sky,
mountains will flood
for the child
of Mother Nature’s blood.
Tears of the sky
the sacred waters will yield,
the Great Spirit
will be your guide; your shield.
Tears of the sky
falling from the heavens above,
Mother Earth
soaking it with her love.
Tears of the sky
shall be your throng,
acclaimed by your name
you are Rainsong!
I know
Who I am
And I follow
Absolutely no one
Leave me alone
Listen to the bells ringing
Announcing a new season
It is the hour of orison
The hour to meditate and to think
The hour to act and to examine
Truth is everywhere
And love, surrounded by fools
Makes itself felt
It is not worth the trouble to lie
History has recorded everything
Events, incidents and accidents
One must never ignore time
Which waits patiently
Standing right in line
To drown you in the dark
At the bottom of the funnel.
You ignore my words and my sayings
But when your turn comes to play your part
You will know how to gnash your teeth
You will see that I am not pedantic
But rather truthful and clairvoyant
One does not trifle with time
I am
Who I am
And you are
Obviously who you are
Leave me alone
Live, enjoy, and delight in
Your beautiful life
Amidst good friends
And right companions.
P.S. Translation of “Je Sais, Je Sais’ by Hébert Logerie
Copyright © May 2026 Hébert Logerie. All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several poetry collections.
We said ‘goodbye John’ today
What should we say
A Brave Yankee he was
Creating buzz
Announcing home runs in the air
Using a style entertaining, sparking flair
Turning a routine afternoon affair
Around
Toasting Pinstripe town
Even if the team was down
Jeter, Rodriguez and Judge
Success never budged
Standing strong
Waiting for the Liza and Frank Song
Written by Kandor and Ebb
Famous on Broadway many said
But giving a Sterling performance
Made everyone sing and dance
Line up had the creative look
Radio listening enjoying the personal hook
Seemed written in the playbill book
Holy Cow!
Is where he is now
Hearing how bout that
When at bat
He gets the call
Joining Phil and Mel watching baseball
He does not arrive
he claims the horizon.
The wind forgets its wandering
when his breath passes through it,
trees stiffen mid-whisper,
and dust, once arrogant in motion,
bows into stillness.
There is a weight to his silence
not emptiness,
but the crowded hush of command,
as though the earth itself
waits for permission to turn.
Muscle coils beneath a cloak of gold dusk,
each step a verdict,
each pause a question
no creature dares to answer wrongly.
He is not noise
noise is what follows him.
A trembling in marrow,
a ripple through the unseen threads
that stitch fear into flesh.
He does not chase dread
dread runs ahead,
announcing him in broken rhythms.
Even shadows hesitate
before touching him.
Even time, bold and tireless,
seems to shorten its stride
when he stands.
For power is not in the strike alone,
nor in the teeth of ending
it is in the knowing
that ending can arrive,
swift as a thought,
final as dusk.
And so the plains remember him
long after he has passed
in bent grass,
in held breath,
in the quiet confession of the living:
Some forces are not seen
only felt,
like thunder before it speaks.
Stillness gathers at the edge of awareness,
not silence, but a thinning of what can be known.
It moves beside me—a subtle umbra
speaking only with gestures.
Light moves freely through it,
revealing nothing of its source.
Even my breath feels altered here,
softened by something unseen.
I step forward and the world changes,
not louder, not quieter—just different.
It’s as if a veil has shifted
without announcing its purpose.
I listen for what is missing~
but absence has its own texture and sound~
an aural experience unlike any other,
a crystal-clear sound waiting to be understood.
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